festa-ing

We never take any time off together, or go anywhere together for that matter, so we decided that this year we would visit all the Festas in our area. Every weekend from July until the beginning of September most of the villages in Portugal have their own Festa, a party to the likes of us, but most have a religious significance, processions, church services, but also local bands,
raffles, I failed to win the first prize again, a goat



big sit-down meals and tasty snacks



We visted the Vinho Festa, were we banged a lot of nails into a piece of wood, much hilarity was had, mostly with the ridiculous hammer. The first one with a nail down, pays for the nails, 10c each, the last one down, buys the drinks, and here in Vinho, you can hit anyones nails...we literally got hammered!!





Unfortunately for us the evening events don't really kick-off until after 10pm which makes it difficult to attend (I am usually in bed by 11pm), but we persevered.
We planned each weekend carefully, making sure we went to the village with the best band on Friday and Saturday nights and by Sunday we were burnt out but attended non the less.

We gate crashed a procession in Pai Das Donas, visiting each open house with the father and son accordion players, eating snacks and drinking some very dubious alcohols, always being forced upon us This particular event started very strangely as we really were clearly not part of the village, but we knew the accordion player and his wife and were begged to stay and continue, by the end of the night we had made lots of new friends, some of who only come once a year. Pai Das Donas is a tiny village with a permanent residency of 9!!

We nearly got the hang of the dance (although we were still the laughing stock of everyone!!)





There is a lovely sense of celebration here in the summer, a celebration of life, a real family event, a coming togetherness. Something I've not experienced before. It's amazing to feel part of that and to be welcomed into the hearts of so many not to mention the houses and the food and the drink.
Thank you kind people of Portugal/obrigado gente amável de Portugal

knobs and knockers

I've been taking photos of knobs and knockers, not all from Portugal, but anyway. I liked the idea and I like both the words; knobs and knockers, meaning of which, is lost in translation as I discovered when in France last weekend. My obsession rubbed off on the people I was staying with and the people I met, who all said they will never be able to pass a door and not think of me!!! nice




this, I know is not a knob or a knocker but I liked it because we had a similar one on the house I grew up in (only in English!!)

and this, cos it's lovely,

Bombos de S. Nicolau, de Pardieiros

I'd heard there was a festa today in a village near us, the sun was shining and it was hot, I'd heard it was a bean festival but it was also Implantação da República a celebration of the proclamation of the Portuguese First Republic in 1910. I only know this because I went to the bank this morning and it was shut. So, after we had hauled a tonne of oak off of someone else's land (a favour) and Rick had wrenched his back, we popped up to see what was going on. It turns out it wasn't a bean festival or a republican celebration, it was the anniversary of the local Bombo band. Lots of friends and friends kids are in this band, they are very loud and even louder when there is more than one band.

Here's a delightful video sample for your ears and some charming pics to go with it all.



sorry can't get video on here at the moment, will try again tomorrow

changing of the seasons

The end of the summer (even though it's still scorchio) was marked with Rick's birthday and the Grande Arroz Doce, the Guiness Book of World Records was entered and 450 kilos of rice pudding made..Unfortunately it was burnt. Terrible shame for the village and all the visitors who sat at the esplanada all day, salivating, not a shame for my pigs who love it!!!!









We danced alot at the local Festa's and other people danced alot too. We processed alot, at night and in the day















I also had the great honour of meeting a 1956 Olympian athlete who has inspired me to go running every day, I figured that if an 80 year old can do it what the hell am I wingeing about. I now run 25km a week, not bad.

The outdoor cafe has packed up, the Lisboans have gone home. We can now park our truck again!!!



The bunting will remain all winter no doubt, constantly reminding us of the good times we had, it will blow away and block up the drains and get caught up in the trees and in the river, eventually being washed away by the heavy downpours that will govern our lives for the winter months.